


the words of the prophet (are written on the megablock walls)

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Category: Dredd (2012)
Genre: Gen, Partnership, Post-Movie(s), Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Yuletide 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 08:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13119807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: Her name had been the first Judgment Cassandra Anderson had ever faced.





	the words of the prophet (are written on the megablock walls)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jediseagull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jediseagull/gifts).



> Title by way of Simon & Garfunkel's "The Sound of Silence". Written as a treat in Yuletide 2017.

One thing Cassandra Anderson's record at the Hall of Justice didn't say: she hadn't been named Cassandra when she was born. She hadn't had any name other than Baby Anderson for several days, in fact, until her parents hadn't been able to delay putting her data in the system any longer.

The reason for that was as simple, and as complex, as the reason she'd never used her talents to ace her tests in school instead of carefully hovering around the passing mark: another thing her parents had never said out loud where anyone might hear. The psychic ability the Judges had accepted her for, the thing that set her apart from all the other mutants abandoned to the Cursed Earth — it wasn't actually _her_ mutation. Genetically transmitted, but not unique or original to her; _her_ mutation was the amplification and clarification of a power she'd inherited from her _mother_. Helen Anderson had held her daughter in her arms after she was born, and decided she wanted to _know_ her before she defined her.

Her name had been the first Judgment Cassandra had ever faced. But it would be far from the last.

That definition had held true for over a decade: a girl who would always find it easier to echo other people's truths than fake the small social lies that kept society from breaking down entirely, never quite managing to fit in. From the day she'd entered the Academy until the day of her rookie assessment, she'd made herself as uncontroversial as she could, terrified of the images of labs and Resyk Centers that passed through the minds of many of the Judges around her. _If the cost of keeping her ever becomes more than the risk of losing her potential_ ... every day she'd woken in her own bunk with the taste of her trainers' ambivalent interest on her tongue had been another day she might still have a chance to survive long enough to make a difference. Training as a Judge, but not too exceptional a Judge, had seemed the only possible way out of a maze filled with razor sharp thorns.

Some days, she still wasn't sure she'd ever really escaped it. But then there were the other days, the days that made all the rest of it worthwhile.

"Anderson," Dredd greeted her as she pulled her Lawmaster to a halt behind his.

"Dredd," she said, offering Mega City One's most famous Judge a respectful nod.

"Still no helmet, I see," he commented, his own features hidden as always behind the dark screen of an eyeshield. She'd never seen him take his own helmet off, not even when he was bleeding from an armor piercing round, but there was no mistaking that rugged jawline or the rigid wall of emotional control that armored his mind as much as the uniform protected his body.

"Still too much interference," she shrugged. She could never tell whether he was actually as glad to see her as she was to see him, but he _had_ asked for her as backup, which was more than most Judges ever did. "When they make one I can use my abilities through, I'll wear it. Until then I'll have to keep working without one. So what are we responding to here — Control said a 10-10?"

"Looks like the early stages of a Block War," he nodded. "Dealer fancying himself the next Ma-Ma."

"Stop the fighting, render Judgment...." Cassandra parsed the brusque declaration through, factoring in her presence and what he'd seen her do in Peach Trees, and reached the obvious conclusion. "You need me to figure out if any of them know where the drug's being manufactured before they're taken to the iso cubes?"

The steely surface of his thoughts softened just a little, then solidified again, leaving her with the faint impression of unspecific approval. "Red Oaks is a newer megablock than Peach Trees; holds about a hundred thousand. I'd just as soon not get locked down inside it someday."

And with only enough Judges to investigate six percent of active violent crimes, nipping something like that in the bud really _was_ the best use of her abilities. She nodded to him again, smiling faintly, then fell in at his side as he turned to walk toward the towering concrete structure's east entrance. A few medical responders were already streaming back toward them with living patients on their slabs; Cassandra saw one do a distinct double-take at the sight of Dredd, then veer sharply to one side, giving her a wide-eyed look as she calmly walked beside him.

"Preliminary identifications?" she asked.

He keyed something up on his wrist monitor, then sent it across to hers: a row of miniaturized faces, one with a much longer rap sheet attached to it than the rest. "Only one deceased so far, but half a dozen injured, most of them with crippling injuries. All known gang affiliates."

"Sending a message," she agreed. "Top down, or bottom up?"

A bare hint of a smile tucked in at one corner of Dredd's mouth, though no hint of emotion shone through this time. "This one doesn't aspire to quite the same heights."

"Got it." She bit her lip then, hesitating, and shot him a quick sidewise look. She hadn't dared ask the last time they'd worked together, but they had a moment now, and several weeks of subbing in as a partner with other Judges who never asked for a more permanent co-assignment had weighted the scales in favor of curiosity. What did he see in her that others hadn't? She'd actually handed him her badge after her assessment was over, convinced that she'd abjectly failed, but then found it pinned to her door when she'd returned to her quarters. No other message; just a congratulations from the Chief Judge when she called in to ask for clarification.

"Speaking of Peach Trees ... why _did_ you pass me that day? Every other Judge I've talked to says you never bend the rules, but you told me having my primary weapon taken from me was an automatic fail."

Dredd slowed as he passed through the megablock's massive blast doors, tilting his helmet back as he gazed toward a balcony a few levels up where a faint miasma of smoke hung in the air. "I also told you that one in five Judges don't survive their first day," he said absently, dropping one hand to his Lawgiver. "There's more than one kind of automatic fail."

Cassandra blinked, then momentarily set that aside, reacting to his wary posture with a hand on the butt of her own weapon and a quick psychic sweep of the area. Her range was getting better, but it was still a stretch at that distance. "No snipers on the balcony. Was the reported scene on Level Four?"

"Affirmative," he growled, then turned to stalk toward the nearest staircase. For a moment, she thought he'd judged the interrupted conversation finished — but as they rounded the first corner of the steps, he cast another glance at her. "These Judges you talked to," he said, leadingly.

She wrinkled her nose. There were only a couple of reasons he would pick out that comment in particular; no need to read him to figure out what he was asking. "I've been assigned to a lot of temporary partners. None of them doubt your assessment, but they don't ask me back either. I started asking questions."

Dredd grunted as they passed the landing for Level Two, a quick, grimly amused huff of breath. "You survived your mistakes. Conquered your fears. Didn't make any mis-Judgments. But you also executed corrupt Judges," he said. "Tarring yourself with my brush is not a quick road to popularity."

She ... hadn't been expecting that; if she'd been expecting any insight at all, it had been something to do with institutional prejudice against mutants, or psychics in particular. Cassandra shot another look his way as they approached Level Three, and abruptly remembered his announcement over the intercoms after she'd been brought before Ma-Ma. _In case you've forgotten, this block operates under the same rules as the rest of the city._ And then Ma-Ma had called in four Judges who thought they were above those rules, as well.

 _To protect and serve the city._ "It's not just that I survived, then. It's what I said about why I wanted to be a Judge?" she clarified.

Dredd inclined his head; behind the solid surface of his thoughts, another hidden emotion shimmered, just enough to tell that it was there. Something more confusing than the other glimpse — but mostly because she'd never felt it directed at _her_ before.

For one long, bemused moment, Cassandra contemplated the idea that a standard-issue human being might look at her and think: _kindred_.

Then they arrived at Level Four, and she refocused to push her ability outward again, testing for violent thoughts. She held in the fierce grin that wanted to break free and zeroed in on a knot of fearful aggression, festering only a few corridors away. "Two gunmen hiding near the scene; defensive, though. Not the dealer's."

"Waiting for someone to return to the scene," he concluded. "They probably won't interfere, but keep an eye on them."

"Will do." She took up a stance at his back as they finally approached the dead and the medic standing over them, keeping one mental thumb on the unseen gang members as they noticed the Judges, a spark of loathing kindling in their minds. 

If not for her abilities, she might have been just one more angry gang member waiting behind one of those doors; if not for Dredd, she might not be there at all. But because of both, she had a chance to make a difference: to maybe make things better for the next kid cast into the system after it ground up their parents, or the next techie tortured by a criminal because his talents were too useful to leave outside their control.

Maybe being exceptional wasn't such a bad thing, after all.

"Three more gunmen on the south side of the sector: the dealer's people. Carrying silenced weapons," she announced, as a spike of suddenly-ended fear pierced the bubble of her awareness.

Dredd nodded sharply to the medic. "Call the meat wagon; we're done here," he said, then unholstered his weapon and gestured toward the corridor ahead. "Anderson?"

Cassandra nodded and led off, intent but not too intent on the target; she'd learned the hard way that psychic tunnel vision could be as dangerous as any other kind, so she'd put in the time since Peach Trees to practice paying attention to multiple threats.

But as she walked, a smile tugged at her mouth again ... and this time she didn't bother holding it in.


End file.
